


Betwixt Twilight

by avalonroses



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 11:26:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12107721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonroses/pseuds/avalonroses
Summary: Alfred finds himself drawn to a strange man that waits at the bus stop but never seems to get on the bus.





	Betwixt Twilight

Like every Friday evening before this, Alfred found himself on the last bus to inner Montana where his parents lived. The journey took about thirty minutes and there were barely any regulars on the late bus. Even the bus driver donned a new face each time.

After being picked up from his stop, Alfred would shimmy into the unforgiving seats, slot his earphones in and entertain himself by people watching. He liked to think the late bus ran through an alternate dimension where the population consisted only of sleepy travellers, their brains pickled with caffeine. And after downing yet another sugar-free, salted caramel cappuccino with extra foam, Alfred supposed he fit in with the drowsy bus world pretty well. 

The only regular Alfred had encountered thus far was a stern-faced man. He’d uninventively named the man ‘Brows’ on account of his desperately-in-need-of-plucking eyebrows. Whether the over pronounced eyebrows were a personal choice or an unfortunate genetic hand-me-down, Alfred didn’t know. He’d never spoke to Brows; the man didn’t even get on the bus. Alfred would only pass by him as he stood, impatient, at one of the bus-stops. He was always there, always waiting. And so very cute.

The stranger’s cuteness went so far as to prompt Alfred into taking action. Which was why he found himself on the bus, same as always, doodling out the words ’Hi cutie’ in a fuchsia highlighter. He punctuated the greeting with a smiley face.

There was no point in lying, he was pretty proud of his work and he couldn’t wait to make the guy’s day. It would be like something out of a movie, the guy would be crazy not to find it really sweet. Though Alfred did hope there wouldn’t be anyone else at the stop to misinterpret the message.

As the bus reached the last set of traffic lights before Brows’ stop, Alfred prepared himself for plan ‘Hit on Cute Eyebrow Guy’ extraordinaire. To his surprise, the bus actually pulled in and waited for some elderly passengers to climb aboard. Spotting Brows, Alfred hurriedly pressed his sign against the questionably stained glass and shuffled it around to get the guy’s attention. 

Large, green eyes locked on to Alfred and the American mentally cheered when the stranger eyed his message. Something changed though, in the man’s eyes. They glimmered with something indistinguishable, maybe fear. Brows stepped back and darted his eyes around his surroundings, as if he hoped Alfred’s message was intended for someone else.

The bus drove away and the stranger dwarfed into a pale speck amongst the light pollution of the city.

He must have thought Alfred was a creep or a pervert.

Determined, Alfred decided he’d tone it down next Friday.

-/-

Sorry if I scared you last week. I’m Alfred, what’s your name?

Brows read the message, appearing to be as flighty and dislocated as last week, as if Alfred had dragged him off his axis and left him suspended in unchartered territory.

He probably wasn’t into guys. He had that look about him and Alfred had never misjudged someone who had the look but there was a first time for everything, he supposed.

The bus made a whooshing sound as it began to accelerate and Alfred almost missed it. Almost.

The stranger mouthed a word timidly, one word, but Alfred caught it and savoured it.

Arthur.

-/-

Asking strangers at bus-stops for their number wasn’t an exercise that, Alfred guessed, would have much of a success rate. The American decided it would make more sense if he wrote down his number.

Arthur was there as always, pretty and freckled in his formal blazer, ill-suited for the weather.

He read Alfred’s message and stared into Alfred’s eyes for a long measure of time, long enough for Alfred to shift in his seat awkwardly. Arthur shook his head and looked away.

Alfred only knew that the man’s name was Arthur and he waited at the bus stop every Friday. Despite this, Alfred felt himself deflate at the rejection. There was only a pane of glass between them but Arthur seemed unreachable, unknowable, and Alfred had wanted to know him. He’d wanted to know where Arthur had grown up and where his favourite hiding spots had been as a child, whether he was a light sleeper or if he could slumber through world war three, and what he looked like when he was naked and hot with lust.

Well, that was that.

-/-

Alfred had seated himself at the opposite side of the bus but he couldn’t stop himself from searching out Arthur when the bus was stationary at Arthur’s stop.

He wasn’t there.

Alfred’s heart fumbled in his chest and he clambered over the chairs to reach the window. Nothing. No sign of Arthur.

His eyes strayed to the entrance of the bus.

It was the first time Alfred had seen Arthur in decent lighting and he was both beautiful and eerie in his vibrancy. Alfred noticed, with disbelief, that the bus driver didn’t ask him for his fare or his pass, in fact, Arthur drifted right past him as if the bus driver hadn’t even seen him.

He was almost ethereal; his skin silken and translucent like it was fashioned from otherworldly material. There was something about his presence, still and scentless and almost fused with the air surrounding him, that had the hair on Alfred’s arms standing on edge.

“You can see me,” he said, clear as a bell. Alfred wasn’t all that familiar with English accents but Arthur’s seemed antiquated somehow, slow and crisp unlike the hurried speech of the twenty first century.

“Uh, yeah.” Alfred paused as Arthur sat down next to him. “Am I not supposed to?” A shard of panic settled in his stomach, threatening to grow bigger.

“I don’t know.” Arthur answered. “No one can see me. Not unless…”

Alfred swallowed and ducked his eyes from Arthur’s disorientating gaze. “Not unless what?”

Arthur was quiet for a long time and Alfred was losing control of his breathing, feeling more frightened than he’d like to admit.

“I usually can’t get on the bus. I’ve tried many times before but I’m always pushed off. You’re what I’ve been waiting for.”

“Me? Why me? We don’t even know each other.”

“But you want me, you saw me,” Arthur answered. His lips twitched with a smile. “You think I’m cute.”

Someone was watching him and when he spied the source of the stare, he found an old woman sat in front of him, a bemused expression on her face. She didn’t look at Arthur, only him.

“You are cute. But… are you real? Are you here?” Alfred asked with urgency.

He started when a chilled hand cupped his cheek. The touch was light, like spider-legs against his skin.

“I’m sorry, Alfred, but you’re close. I’ve touched you.” Arthur leant in close enough that Alfred could see the slivers of silver in his irises. “You won’t see your parents again but I’ll keep you safe. Promise me you’ll stay with me.”

Arthur kissed Alfred, a whisper against his lips, and Alfred drew himself further into the kiss, combing his fingers through Arthur’s wispy hair. His fear slid away from him and contentment filled the gap it had left. He was content to kiss Arthur, content to let the world fall away, and content to trust Arthur.

“I promise, Arthur.”

Later that night, a bus was found overturned and mangled. All survived except one: a nineteen year old boy by the name of Alfred F. Jones. When his body was retrieved from the vehicle, he looked entirely at peace.


End file.
